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She placed my hands above my head between both of hers. She slowly lowered her face to mine, inch by inch. I could feel as my heart began to race. “Who said anything about boys?” she asked, mischievously. At that moment our lips met, her hands left mine and they traveled to my face. I was in a trance at the moment. “What are you guys doing?!” The trance had ended and I snapped back to reality. I pushed Naomi from on top of me and rolled onto my hands and knees. My older sister, Lily stood in the doorway, staring at the two of us. “Don’t tell mom, please,” I begged her. “Fine, just don’t do it again,” she warned and left the room. I left the room as well, not even looking back at my sister and I've tried not to look at her that way since. It has been five years since then and my sister and I are both fifteen and our oldest sister, Lillian, is now eighteen. “Jamie!” mom shouts and I can barely hear her over my music. I roll of bed and pull on a pair of old sweatpants. When I. When her mind thrummed with too much chaos, we’d walk along the piers and end up here. And she’d flow from contemporary to jazz to ballet to styles I can’t even put a name to. Harley Quinn of dance. Crazy. Bump and grind. Wiggle and twist. Shake and spin. Leap. Vault. She was seven degrees of tragic beauty and smoky eroticism. And damn did she ever get off on flaunting it. Granny Teague would say girls like that were spawned from the devil’s seed. There’s a certain truth to that, I guess, given who her bastard of a father was. Lucifer was still an angel though, fallen or not. She inherited most of the good. But like the moth, I was never careful about how dangerously hot she could burn. Hellfire hot.-Beneath Technicolor laser lights, she’d ensnare strangers on the dance floor, arms circling like bear traps. Most of the time it was her nubile peers, teenagers looking to escape the brittle card they got dealt. But sometimes she’d prey on the women that came to recapture forgotten glory.
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